The farm past the outskirts of Lobole was a modest thing, simple, but, to Jack’s appraising eye, effective, judging by the way the crops were growing. They wouldn’t win any world prizes, but they clearly had a lot of blood, sweat, and tears poured into the soil.

Though the thought of blood took Jack away from admiring the farm and to the reason they were here by the entrance of the barn, talking to a grey-haired man of well over eighty.

“Well, let’s see,” he started in a reedy voice, coughing once to get rid of the cobwebs and shutting his eyes in thought. “T’were ‘bout a week ago. I had just finished tending the horseradish when I heard some commotion from the road. Dog was going crazy and even some of the cattle were spooked. I think it might be some kids out there causing a ruckus, maybe neckin or trying to rustle up cattle—had both happen a month ago, only two days breaking it up—so I get my crossbow and creep along towards ‘em.” He paused, scratching at his head. “W-wasn’t plannin’ on hurtin’ ‘em, just a bit of a show.”

“I understand,” Jack said, quietly encouraging him. “What happened next?”

“I get over to where I can see and…” He shook his head. “‘T’weren't no kids necking. No rustlers either. T’were... “ He raised his hand in a small gesture. “Bigger than you, by a good two, three feet. With a big, toothy maw and antlers. It was over by the road, gnawing on…” The man frowned. “Eve. It was eatin’ at her and all I could do was watch.”

“If you had acted you would have died too,” Rarity consoled.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “I hope so, at least. It lets me sleep at night, knowing there was nothing that could have been different.”

“So what did ya do when ya saw it?” Jack asked.

“Ran back into the house, locked the doors and hid down in the basement. Didn’t come back up until dawn.”

“So it… it didn’t try ta chase after ya or nothin’?” the farmer questioned, seeming a bit bewildered by his story. “An’ what ‘bout yer livestock?”

“Livestock was fine, same as the dog. And as far as I know it didn’t come after me. I’m not as spry as I used to be, figure if someone were to chase me, I’d be caught quick enough.”

The questioning continued for only a few minutes more before the two of them bid good day to the old farmer. As they walked the dirt road leading back into town, Rarity couldn’t help but notice the deep lines of thought across Jack’s brow.

“Do you not trust his replies?” she asked.

Jack twitched, getting pulled away from her musings. “I trust him.” Scratching at her chin she looked towards the soul-folk. “But there are a few things that need ironed out. Do ya think he had bad vision?”

It was Rarity’s turn to think. After a beat she shook her head.

“His vision cannot be any worse than my own, I would assume. He was not wearing glasses and I doubt such a backwards place as this has contacts.”

“”It’s not that backwood.”

Rarity offered an unconvinced raise of her brow.

“Alright. It’s pretty backwood. Makes Mansfield look like Camelot,” Jack admitted.

“Do you think perhaps he was simply confused of the facts?” Rarity asked, getting back on track.

“He didn’t seem confused. Seemed like he knew left from right.”

“Then what, pray tell, is the issue, Jack?”

“Fact the ghoul didn’t try ta eat him. Or the dog an’ cattle, fer the matter. Single target killin’ ain’t what necromancers use ghouls for. They’re there ta sow chaos, tear inta a crowd, raid villages. That means ta me one of two things, ain’t a one of ‘em good.” She crossed her arms below her breasts. “We’re either dealin’ with a necromancer so powerful that she can command ghouls ta act not in their nature—someone like that jus’ existin’ would scare me ta death, sug.”

“What’s the other meaning?” Rarity pressed.

“Other thought I had was that this was no ghoul. It’s somethin’ that might jus’ be worse.”

Rarity swallowed. “Worse?” she repeated. “What do we do if it’s worse?”

“Same thing we’ve been doin’. We get more info.”

The captain had just stepped out of the small inn when Jack and Rarity got back to Lobole. Without preamble, Jack approached him.

“I need ta know ‘bout anythin’ happenin’ in town,” Jack bluntly said. “Beyond this whole necromancer business.”

“This is a small town, Jack. I don’t know what it’s like where you’re both from, but here we don’t have things happen,” he replied.

“Every town’s got some things. Where I’m from is a safe place, but even then we have gossip.” She offered a bit of a reassuring smile. “Every town that has women folk does.”

“I hope you’re including yourself when it comes to gossiping, darling,” Rarity said. Jack offered a small, neutral laugh in reply.

“Well…” The Captain tilted his head back. “There was a few drunkards that got thrown out of the bar for pinching the ass of the barmaid. That hardly seems relevant.”

“There’s gotta be more,” Jack coaxed. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if there wasn’t.”

“One of the women miscarried. I think from the stress of everything happening.”

“Are ya sure it wasn’t before all-a this?” the earth-folk pressed, her face taking a grave expression.

“Positive. It was just after the second incident.”

Jack adjusted the stetson atop her head. “Alright. Rules out another monster,” she said.

“How many monsters do you know of?” Rarity asked.

“‘Bout the same amount of corn variations an hybrids ya can do with it. Though I like learnin’ ‘bout one more than the other,” Jack replied matter-of-factly. She returned her focus to the Captain. “Anythin’ else?”

“Well, there was a hunter…”

Jack put a hand to her mouth, listening.

“It was before all of this, though. Almost two months prior. I wasn’t sure if it’d be relevant, but Sunderland, one of the community’s hunters, he left with a group of four a few days prior to an out of season snowstorm—worst one I had seen in my years. Snow so dense and ice so thick you could barely function. Sunderland came back almost a month later, banged up, malnourished, sickly, a broken arm and, worst of all, a party of one. Said the others had died out on a mountain pass—when I asked what he was doing there, as the pass was horribly out of the way, he said he felt called to it—you know how soul-folk can be.”

“Almost as bad as earth-folk,” Rarity countered, brushing her violet hair behind her ear. “At least sky-folk understand the necessity of spells in order for society to function, earth-folk don’t trust anything but their own two hands.”

“My own two hands never blinded me,” Jack countered, giving a small glance to Rarity’s eyepatch. Before they ended up in a heated argument, Jack decided to fall back a hair, holding out her hand and stopping Rarity. “But it’s got its uses. I’m alive ‘cause of magic. It’s jus’ a fire. Needed fer a lot, but ya gotta make sure ya don’t get burned.” Putting her hand down to her own hip, she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “How’d he get the injuries?” she asked the man. He shrugged in response.

“I only overhead of the incident. I was out on patrol on the road leading to Freya at the time. You’d have better luck asking the doctor who treated him or the man himself.”

“Point us to the man,” Jack said without hesitation. “I wanna hear this straight from the horse's mouth.”

The road to the hunter’s home took them through the lowlands of the area, a road that dropped down and lead into a marshy, boggy thing that lead off into the distance, where it picked up just a hair on a hill and faded off past a turn. Rarity looked at the puddles in the upcoming road and winced.

“Absolutely deplorable,” she bemoaned.

“Place has seen better days,” Jack admitted.

A few steps further in Rarity let out a squeal; Jack, knowing she had her primary weapon in its travel sheath and as such all but impossible to pull out from behind her, instantly reached down by the sheath at her stomach and pulled out a shortsword, taking up a combative stance with it. Only to see the tail end of a snake vanish behind a clump of grass. Jack paused, then shot a narrowed glance at Rarity, one the tailor returned with her good eye.

“Do not act like snakes are not disgusting, Jack Apple,” the soul-folk said with a sniff.

“Ain’t my favorite, but don’t do that right now,” she replied, giving one more glance around before sheathing the weapon.

“How can I not? This place is vile and, and disgusting and filled with snakes and probably spiders and, ugh, frogs too, I bet. Not only that, but there’s water on the road and I’m positive it’s going to ruin my boots and—what are you doing?” Rarity asked, briefly distracted as Jack approached.

Without preamble, she plucked Rarity up off the ground and held her bridal style.

“Now at least yer boots’ll be fine,” Jack offered, some cheer and forced enthusiasm in the words.

Rarity seemed hesitant, debating on what to say or if it was necessary. After a while, she nodded.

“Thank you,” she finally replied, putting an arm around the earth-folk’s neck.

“The least I could do, hon. I’ve put ya through more than ya deserve; only fair I spoil ya a hair when I can.”

“We’ve both been through our fair share. More than most, I’d imagine,” she agreed.

“You’ve givin’ up a lot for me too. I know this,” she lifted her arms and swept it across the wetlands to demonstrate, “ain’t somethin’ ya had in mind. Same with the farm.”

“The farm is fine, Jack. It serves as a moment’s respite from my hectic work schedule. But this, I’ll admit; this land is a far cry from the suites and glamor of the stage. Frankly, if I may be curt, it’s complete…”

“Shit,” Jack finished.

“Not the word I would use, but precisely.”

“Ain’t no need ta beat ‘round the bush with me, sug. Ya don’t need ta sugarcoat it.”

Rarity mulled it over, then looked to Jack with a surprising amount of empathy.

“Darling, how can they live in such a hovel? This place is horrible and that’s not even considering the necromancy. I wish there was more we could do for the town.”

“We’re doin’ somethin’.” Jack adjusted Rarity in her grip, holding the woman in her wide palms as she walked them through the mash, each puddle along the way seeming to want to drag her down.

“We’re givin’ the town its soul back. Place’ll be a lot livelier, people’ll start goin’ back ta normal, doin’ their routine. An’ fer the most part, routines shape a place. Who knows? By the time it’s done, Lobole will make Freya look like a shanty town.” She smiled down at the soul-folk. “Evolve or die, as ya put it. An’ I think this place has what it takes ta evolve.”

“You actually listened to me earlier?” Rarity remarked.

“An’ agree with some of it.”

They crossed the marsh and began climbing the terrain, entering into a canyon made of two rises of earth, as if a great shovel had dug out a path through a former hill, wide enough to fit a wagon and a person, albeit barely. About a quarter up, Rarity coughed.

“You can let me down now,” she said. Jack followed the order, placing the soul-folk back on the ground.

The two reached the apex of the gorge and both paused, briefly stuck dumb.

The walls had changed, their left had gradually turned to a slope, climbable compared to the sheer walls from before, their right had all but vanished, sharply dropping off into a valley far below, with trees and a single river snaking through the land. Though the sky was grey overhead and threatening rain. Each paused for a moment, taking in the sight.

“It’s pretty,” Jack stated, the words so obvious they might as well went unsaid.

“I suppose every place has at least one scenic local, perhaps.” Rarity shut her eyes, seeming to commit it to memory. “Though in larger cities, perhaps, it’s a man made design, oui?”

“Camelot sure didn’t get its mountainside castle through twiddlin’ their thumbs, that’s fer sure,” Jack agreed with a small laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to see the sights in Paris. My family was originally from there. From what my father said about mother was that they met under the Eiffel tower on New Year's eve after both their blind dates were no-shows."

“I can’t even think ‘bout yer dad bein’ from France.”

“Nobody assumes he’s a foreign diplomat either. It’s that blasted straw hat, it’s practically glued upon his head,” Rarity grumbled. Her expression turned warmer. “Perhaps we should go at some point.”

“Sometime,” Jack agreed. Rarity hesitantly put a hand to Jack’s stomach.

“A birthday gift for Daniel, perhaps?” Rarity offered.

“Who’s Daniel?”

Rarity looked down at Jack’s stomach, then back up to the earth-folk. Jack felt her heart skip a beat but she kept her expression playful.

“Daniel?” Jack repeated, “ain’t no way ya came up with that already. We ain’t even tried fer a kid yet, let alone have we…” She stumbled a bit on the word, heat coming to her cheeks and pulsing to life at her temples. Rarity offered a laugh, bringing her hands gently around Jack’s waist.

“Well, darling, I assumed Pierre would be a definite no. I thought it’d be better to go ahead and throw my second choice out first—you do despise Pierre, correct?”

Jack offered a disgusted look but wrapped her arm around Rarity’s shoulders regardless.

“What kinda dumb name is Pierre? Yer askin’ him ta get beat up at school.”

“Says the woman legally named Jack. You have no authority on what makes a successful name.”

“My name’s great,” the earth-folk defended. Rarity let out a single snort. “What? It is.”

“I’m sure it is. For a third of Cabello’s total population. I still do not understand why your folks—family—” she quickly corrected, “chose Jack.”

The earth-folk smiled a bit. “Well, ma an’ pa had decided that I’d be Jack or Jonathan if I were a boy, Ashleagh or Amelia if I were a girl. I got born an’ ma, never havin’ the best set of eyes, sees me fresh outta the womb an’ some of the umbilical cord droppin’ past my leg. Pa was a joker; after she saw that an’ called me a boy, he didn’t correct her throughout ‘til right before signin’ the birth certificate. Ma, after callin’ me Jack a few times prior, decided that the name fit me anyway, girl or not.” She laughed. “That, an’ I bet it was in part ta get back at pa fer makin’ her look like a fool in front of the doctors. They were the competitive sort.”

Rarity felt a smile tug at her cheeks. She embraced it until it became a full-on grin.

“What?” Jack asked, her own expression mirroring Rarity’s after a beat of looking at the soul-folk.

“The story. It was cute, darling.”

“Not that cute,” the farmer replied.

“Though it makes sense, your parents being like that. You inherited their nature.”

Jack tilted her stetson back and warmly looked below them.

“I always was the fiery one ‘tween Mac an’ Bloom, that’s fer damn sure.” She turned to look at Rarity, her green eyes twinkling in amusement. “Tell ya ‘bout the letter I got on the ship?”

Shaking her head, Rarity turned to face Jack, following at her side as the earth-folk turned on down the path once more.

“So, I guess you an’ me missed one hell of a sister social….” Jack began.

The hunter’s home was tucked away in a small corner of the world, miles away from the town and resting inside a hill that had been hollowed out. Passing by the worn and rotting wooden fence on the outskirts of the hunter’s property, Jack approached the wooden door at the side of the hill and knocked.

There was silence for a long, long moment. Just when she was going to knock again, the door opened a few scant inches, still sealed by a chain lock from the inside. On the other end of the door, a few inches of a sickly looking young man could be seen.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Rarity, knowing someone who liked honey in their ears when she saw it, stepped forward, giving a touch to Jack’s shoulder and curtsying at the small opening.

“Rarity Apple-Belle of Cabello, behind me is my partner, Jack. Am I correct in assuming you’re Mr. Sunderland?”

He regarded them with a suspicious look. “True, that,” he simply answered through the crack.

“Well, Mr. Sunderland, we need a moment of your time. May we come in?”

“Is this about the beast?” he asked with disdain.

“Correct. We’re gathering information on it and it’s imperative we hear your statement.”

The hunter licked his gums and, after a beat, shut the door. There came a click and then the door opened fully, revealing him.

He was a man Jack would call a shotglass; shorter than both herself and Rarity, maybe an inch over the Princesses’ height, but the man held power in his obvious muscle, his biceps visible and thick in the sleeveless jerkin he wore.

All these vests and jerkins and here I am with jeans waiting for me in our travel bags, Jack thought. Though a small smirk came to her that she quickly hid under a palm when she realized that if she noticed their old clothing, Rarity was probably close to an aneurism, knowing that communities in the old world were this behind regarding fashion trends and materials.

They made their way inside and Sunderland turned, locking the door. Though Jack still trusted people with her whole heart, she still felt her hand rise up to rest at the hip near the handle of her shortsword, its weight a reassurance. Rarity seemed to notice both Jack and the man’s behavior; she gave a small, understanding nod to Jack, then addressed the man.

“Expecting unwanted company?” Rarity asked.

The hunter gave a half-shrug. “With due respect, you’ll understand when I tell you about the beast.”

So saying, he brushed past them and into the kitchen, where he turned on an oil lantern and hung it onto a nail drove within a wooden beam. He sat at a stool beside a wooden table and Rarity joined him on a stool opposite of him. Jack, meanwhile, took her greatsword off of her back and sat atop the counter next to a gas oven so old her granny would have called it an antique.

“It was a little while back,” the hunter started. “There was supposed to be a heard-a elk up north a ways from town, day’s travel by foot. We wanted to stock up the town for winter and give our leather workers more inventory. Me, Francine, Richard and Lindsey, we packed for four days travel, just four days.” He held his fingers out to demonstrate, as if confirming the number to himself and them.

“Day two we find traces of the herd, we got bows and spells ready and we’re raring to use ‘em. Day three rolls around and we’re still tracking their movements, they went further north, almost at a hard gallop.” He looked between the two. “Day four we find them.” Tapping the table, he said one word that made Jack and Rarity pause. “Dead.”

“A predator?” Jack questioned. He let a snort of laughter out.

“Yes. But we only really found out later. At the time, it just looked like they died of hypothermia, all in a pile, no visible injuries. Just… dropped like flies.”

“What happened?” Rarity asked. The man, a sky-folk as the faintest edge of his mark under his jerkin suggested, pointed to Rarity’s own mark.

“Francine, she was a soul-folk and she sensed something. Maybe sort of like a rabbit sensing a hunter. Gets this dazed expression on her and takes off farther north, sprinting like she was possessed. It’s all I could do to fly after the daft wench. She finally stops and it’s at the base of this jagged rise and at the foot of it was this crystal. And I don’t just mean a normal thing. I mean something almost as big as the inn’s lobby.” Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “There’s this thing inside the crystal. Something that I can’t see clearly, but I know it’s pretty big and I know this… thing, whatever it is, is a problem. I remember just standing near it made my stomach do flips. Francine, she moves even closer, touches the crystal. She,” he raised a hand, then lowered it back onto the table. “She overused her magic, channeled something huge into the crystal. Next thing I know the crystal’s erupted and Francine is…”

“Then what happened?” Jack enquired.

“What didn’t?” he asked with an unamused laugh. “Shards of the crystals hit Francine, punched holes into her like popping out the cork from a wine bottle. Just dozens of chunks getting…” Sunderland shivered, putting his hands on the table to try and steady them, but failing.

“I’m not sure if I blacked out, or if it was just as sudden as drawing a breath, but next thing I know, snow.”

“Snow?” Jack repeated.

“Snow,” he agreed. “It took over everything. It was like we got dropped right into a fucking blizzard. I couldn’t see any of the blokes. I couldn’t even see where Francine’s body was lying from where I stood.

“I ran. I didn’t know where the others went, but at the time I didn’t care. I was terrified and couldn’t navigate—I’ve been a hunter for years and I’ve never gotten as lost as I did then. I couldn’t tell north from south, the sun never appeared in that hell. I just…” Drawing out a shuddering sigh, he buried his face into his hands.

“You poor dear,” Rarity said, reaching over to give a sympathetic pat on his hand. “It’s a miracle you made it back to town.”

“There’s more to the story, ain’t there?” Jack questioned, giving an apologetic frown to Sunderland. “Keep goin’, sug.”

Swallowing, he finally rose his head up and clasped his hands tightly together, already, they were turning white at the knuckles with the force of his grip.

“No. You’re right. There’s more to it. As luck would have it as I was running away, I stumbled onto the mouth of a cave. Managed to get in it before the weather got even worse. I don’t know if it was luck, fate, maybe we just got herded there, but Richard and Lindsey showed up, one after the other. We all get to talking, try to figure out what to do. The blizzard kept on getting worse. The kind of weather that if we stepped out into, we’d die.”

Sunderland rubbed his neck. “We lasted a day in the main mouth of the cave, then it dawns on us that maybe we might starve in there. Richard, though, he lucks out. Or, I think lucks out. It might have been better if we had all died in there. Anyway, Richard finds a small crawl space, no bigger than two feet tall. We take it and—either of you been in caves before?”

“Few. Used ta spelunk ‘em with some of the boys back home,” Jack agreed. Rarity, meanwhile, scrunched her nose up in distaste.

“Stepping into something like that? Heavens no. I can not even imagine what it would take to go into one, what with all the bat guano and dirt. Detestable.”

He chewed on their replies for a second. “Well, Jack would know, but Mrs. Rarity, caves like that get dark. That sounds stupid, but it’s true. We entered into the back of the cave, maybe thinking we could get some traveling done while sheltered from the storm.”

“Tryin’ ta find another exit, I hear ya.” Jack nodded. “Sounds like a dumb plan, but what other option did ya have?”

“None. The snowstorm was brutal. Considering it was warmer inside a damp cave than outdoors, that should say something. Anyway, we walked like blind men through the caves, at first we’re thinkin’ we’re only going to explore for a few minutes, figure light a match or two, nothing major. That plan changed when after another hour the snow only seemed to pick up. Thankfully Lindsey was the most cautious out of all of us and had packed a glow stick for an emergency light source.”

“Glow stick?” Rarity repeated, looking over to Jack, who shrugged in response.

“Cabellians,” Sunderland muttered to himself, briefly free of the dread and fear he held in his heart as the conversation took a turn towards the more mundane. “As you can tell, a lot of the more rural areas in the country aren’t as advanced as your land of milk and honey. Flashlights are a tool of the military—parts and production for them are too scarce for the common man to have one. Glow sticks and oil lanterns are what we use. They’re tubes about six or so inches long and they got two liquids in ‘em sealed off by wax. Glowshroom oil and water.” He shook his hand quickly across the table in demonstration. “Break the wax seal in the center of the tube and they mix together, creating a chemical reaction between the two. Gives off a luminescence, enough of one that we didn’t kill ourselves tripping and falling, at least.” Shuffling in his seat, he seemed to mull something over, as if rehearsing a line for a play, glancing to the side then back down at his hands after a moment.

“I left ‘em,” Sunderland said. “I lost ‘em when I had the glow stick. Guess they were just lagging behind. We were all hungry. I don’t know how many days it had been since we ate. Can’t, can’t imagine how hungry they must have been.” Wanting to say something, then deciding against it, he continued. “Though I lost ‘em, I made it out at least. And a few close calls climbing down a ledge the cave’s opening put me at, but…”

“But you’re leaving some information out,” Rarity remarked. “That simply will not do.”

Sunderland said nothing, Rarity pressed on.

“I’ve made enough business deals in my time to know when I see it, darling. The way you are fidgeting and the way your eyes dart and prance about? There is more to your expedition, and I’ll be damned if we are to leave here without information. It could be integral to our survival.”

“What happened to Richard and Lindsey had nothing to do with the beast!” he snapped, jerking to a stand so quick that Jack rose as well and clasped at her sword. He took in a calming breath and sat back down. “Don’t press the issue.”

“Monsters can make you addled in the head if you’re not careful,” Jack said. “We’re still figurin’ out what kinda monster it is, exactly. Any information ya can give might be important.”

He mulled it over for a long, long moment, his eyes as narrowed as his pursed lips as he searched his thoughts.

“Hungry. That’s what we all were. It… we weren’t in the cave for days, we were there for weeks,” Sunderland defensively spat out, guarding himself from their accusations before they even uttered them. “The glow stick lasted a day and a half. After that we were walking blind, save for the matches we’d light every once in a great while.” He rubbed at his chin in thought, his eyes staring a thousand miles away. “One night we all grouped up together to sleep. Buddy system, you know? I nod off.” Once again, Sunderland paused. He rubbed at his brow and his voice broke a bit as he continued. “I hear something. Something loud and wet near me. I ask them what’s going on and I realize: it sounds like they’re eating, just chowing down on something. I get pissed, thinking that they didn’t get me a fair share, so I turn to them and light a match.”

His face paled. He buried it into his hands and let out a choked sob. “Lindsey. Lindsey and Richard both. Gods above.” Pointing at his shoulder he shook his head. “They were eating each other. Both at once. Gnawing and chewing, one on a shoulder, another eating at a bicep. They were eating each other!” He shot up, slamming his fists to the table. “And their teeth. They were sharp, jagged things: bigger and sharper than any man’s had any right to be and, and their eyes were wild. Feral. Soulless. I got up—shot up—and was running before I even processed what was happening. I just knew, I knew that they’d come after me next. They did.” He stood, trembling for a long, long moment, before slouching down back into his stool again. “I ran. Ran harder than I ever had in my life. I could still hear them coming behind me that entire time. I cracked my head so hard against stone I bled, I tripped and fell and broke a toe, but somehow I followed the noise of wind and ended up at another entrance of the cave.”

Jack seemed like she recognized something from his story but said nothing, so Rarity encouraged him.

“Then what happened?”

He scoffed. “What else? The blizzard had died down while we were trapped in that hellhole so I ran. Ran until I found the main road and ran some more. Ran until I found a farmer and his wife taking a wagon to the next town over..”

“Were ya hungry?” Jack asked, looking evenally at the man.

“Of course I was hungry! What difference does it make?”

“The farmer and his wife. Ya thought about eating them.” No question, a statement.

“What kind of sick fu—”

“Sunderland. Answer it.”

“Don’t you think—”

“Say it!” Jack barked, loud and sudden enough that it made Rarity flinch and Sunderland scowl.

“Yes! Alright? I thought about it, I even started to think about whether I’d cut them into pieces first or just dive right into a leg or breast!” he shouted, slamming his fist onto the table. This time Jack didn’t react to his outburst, instead nodding at his confirmation. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he rubbed at them. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand how hungry we were. I still think about it when I sleep. What might have happened if I had got pushed just a bit harder, had stumbled on the farmer just a little later. It makes me disgusted.”

“The dreams’ll slow with time. Ya were cursed,” Jack said, moving away from the counter. “Sleep near some crushed angelica herb an’ salt. That’ll speed up yer recovery.”

“Cursed? Hell,” he swore. “But I’m gonna be fine?”

“Eventually,” Jack agreed. She offered her hand. “I think that’s all we need. Thank ya kinda fer yer time.”

“That thing. What caused all of this? Am I better off knowing?” he asked, taking her hand in his own briefly.

“Maybe. Jus’ know that by this time tomorrow, we’ll have taken care of it.”

With a few short goodbyes from each of them, Jack and Rarity left the man’s home. The farmer lifted her hat up and brushed a hand through her hair.

“Eating one another… horrible,” Rarity muttered out. Jack put a hand to hers and the soul-folk squeezed it tightly. “Darling, what could cause that?”

Jack looked over her shoulder at the door. Seeing that it was clear and that Sunderland had closed it behind them, the earth-folk spoke.

“Was thinkin’ a banshee. Dash told me once that they can have muzzles sorta like we saw. Figured if it wasn’t a ghoul, it’d be a banshee fer sure. But…”

“But?” Rarity questioned.

“This ain’t what a banshee does. The hunger, the snow.” Jack’s composure faltered. Though she readily admitted she was still learning, she had confidence in her abilities. The expression she held at the moment seemed vulnerable, as if she thought her best might not be enough here, that her inexperience may lead to disaster. “I, we’re in some serious shit, Rare.”

“Jack, darling, tell me what it is, I’ll let you know if it’s serious.”

She took a step away, then slowly turned back to the soul-folk.

“I think it’s a wendigo.”

Rarity paused. “You’re acting as if I should know of them.”

“Ya probably don’t. That’s fine. Let’s see…” She put a finger to her forehead. “Dash has an uncle an’ he does a lot of stuff like Will an’ us do, only more along exorcism, rather than huntin’. He told us about ‘em once. Will had heard of ‘em, but never saw one, same with the rest of us. But what he said...

“There’s a legend ‘bout ‘em. Was a king that lived in gluttony durin’ a time of famine for his people. A beggar one day approached the castle he lived in, askin’ fer a loaf-a bread. When the king rebuked the beggar, he cursed the king, that his kingdom would fall to ice and that no meal would sate his hunger.”

Rarity rolled her eyes as they took to walking down the road. “Why does everyone have to overreact in these tales? You would think a simple assassination or coup d'etat would do, over damning a civilization.”

Jack gave a bounce of her head as they tromped across the dirt road. “No kiddin’. Makes yer catty moments look like some sort of Buddha zen in comparison.”

“I do not get ‘catty,’ Jack,” Rarity warned, tilting her nose up in defiance at the very thought. “A lady is entitled to express her opinion, after all. I simply tend to be more direct now.” Finished with her lecture, she gave a look toward the earth-folk. “So, I presume he became the wendigo, or that a large herd—”

“Colony, actually,” Jack corrected.

“Whatever. When did you learn proper English? This colony came to him?”

“Supposedly he became one. Though with it jus’ bein’ a story, can’t tell how much is fact,” Jack started to count on her fingers. “What facts we got are that they’ve been around since the Norfolk existed, accordin’ ta Will, they’re efficient, intelligent, an’ ruthless. Intelligent enough that we can rule out a necromancer even.”

“Good. Two versus one tips the scales to our favor.”

Jack shrugged. “Wish it stacked ‘em more. These things, sug… I hear they’re somethin’ else.”

Rarity reached over, giving a small tap to Jack’s arm. “And so are you. There’s a reason some back home call you ‘Jack the Ripper,’ after all. Frankly, the wendigo should be frightened of you, rather than what I’m seeing at the moment.” Rarity tucked a stray strand of her violet hair behind an ear and glanced again to her partner. “Now, how do we go about besting the beast? What are its abilities? Weaknesses?”

Jack offered a stiff smile. “Right ta business with ya.”

“Naturally. Dramatics and conversational flair can wait between serious work, not during.” She let out a chuckle. “Or do you think I act overwrought during my sewing? No, darling, I save it for after the fact.”

Reaching a hand up to her own chin, Jack gave a quick pull of it, popping her jaw. “Hell. They’re fast. Faster than almost any natural beast. An’ from the stories Dash’s uncle said, their skin is like leather an’ protected. Hard ta cut. We gotta aim fer their heart. Other parts might regenerate, I guess—even Dash’s uncle wasn’t totally sure on that. It might be the older ones that do that. I’m jus’ goin’ by memory an’ second-hand information here.” She scowled. “These things were supposed ta be extinct, did ya know that? There’s been only three sightings in the past twenty years.”

“I assumed as much, judging by how all your information seems to date back to antiquity and stories.” Rarity crossed her arms and tapped at a bicep in thought..” But I know you can cut metal with your sword, so if we can just let you have one good strike, that’s our best bet.”

“Fire too, from what Dash’s uncle said. They’re supposed ta not like fire. Their heart is made of ice or somethin’ like ice. So if we burn that…”

Rarity gave a proud smile Jack’s way. “And you said this would be difficult. Though I myself lack Twila’s own borderline inhuman abilities with magic, fire is one trick I can certainly conjure. Is there anything else I should know about them?”

“Sunderland talked about the weather. I’m guessin’ they can alter it with their magic, especially as close as we are ta a layline.”

“And a hearty meal beforehand and afterwards,” Rarity chimed in as they took to walking back towards town. “To make sure that what influenced Sunderland and his company does not adversely affect us.”

“Meals an’ a lavender bath after should make sure the curse doesn’t have a chance,” Jack agreed.

“You don’t need a curse to coax me into a lavender bath, darling,” Rarity said. “In fact, I would say one would do you well.”

“Ya sayin’ I stink?”

Rarity coyly smirked. “Terribly so. I think you might need a hand cleaning up when we’re through.”

“I can handle it myse—oh,” Jack suddenly realized. “You mean it like that.”

Rarity sighed, though not without a spark of amusement in the action. “Yes. Like that.”

They walked on down the path. Though it was past dusk by the time they got back to the village, nothing in the dark came to attack them. If the creature was around and if it was smart, then it was smart enough not to show itself to them. In retrospect it made sense. The corpses didn’t have the look of anyone trained for fighting. A smart thing wouldn’t leap at the very first thing it saw, no, it’d be meticulous, careful. Not driven desperate by hunger, not killing to live, but hunting for sport. The wendigo had to be avoiding the patrols, targeting people only when they were by their lonesome.

Jack felt her mouth twitch in a frown. One thing was for sure: if it wouldn’t come to her, she’d come to it, and she had an advantage, one it took Rarity to remind of her of.

She had no reason to fear the wendigo. If she couldn’t outrun it, she’d outmuscle it. If she couldn’t outmuscle it, she’d outthink it. If none of that worked? She’d make something work, because that’s what a predator did. There was no giving up, no possible forfeit. She had struggled to a victory so many times now. She had no reason to fear the thing.

The wendigo, though? The wendigo had every reason to fear Jack the Ripper.